


No Right To Love You

by heyzee



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: #2012, #Songfic, #anxiety, #based on No Right To Love you, #breakups, #comfort, #comingout, #crisis, #depression, #hurt, #isolation, #pain, #sexuality, #slowburn, #this hurt me to write, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyzee/pseuds/heyzee
Summary: -That's the thing about pain though, in the moment it feels like it will kill you. Each passing second you wait, thinking to yourself ‘This can't possibly carry on; i can't possibly carry on.’ But you do, you always do.





	1. Chapter 1

Day Breaks When I Turn

Thursday. Something about Thursdays always seemed off to Dan. Like a shift in the atmosphere that caused all previous days to melt into a mix of sorrow, pain and anxiety. The air in his room felt thick and heavy. He gulped for more, his lungs aching to breathe, but it was useless. His throat was tightening by the second, letting less and less air pass his lips with each breath. His toes curled into the stained carpet of his bedroom floor as his hands gripped at his sheets, an unconscious habit to stop them from shaking. His shoulders ached and his ears rang as he begged each and every nerve in his body to stop. His teeth began to chatter against each other and his lips numbed and at the back of his brain he thought _This_ _is_ _it_. _This_ _will_ _kill_ _me_. But it didn't. It never did.

That's the thing about pain though, in the moment it feels like it will kill you. Each passing second you wait, thinking to yourself _This_ _can't_ _possibly_ _carry_ _on_ ; _i_ _can't_ _possibly_ _carry_ _on_. But you do, you always do.

Dan scratched his arms lightly and uncurled his toes, pushing them back into the carpet with each breath. Grounding himself both physically and mentally. The lack of air making him feel like he would float off into space if he let himself. He quietly calmed himself down, the remains of his thoughts still lingering. Small hiccups passed his lips and salty waves of pain stained his cheeks; each drop burning into his skin as it made it's way down to his chin.

Once his hands had stopped shaking and he could feel his fingertips again he slowly reached for the glass of water on his bedside table. He brought it to his lips and nursed tiny sips, each one cooling his burning throat. He wasn't sure if the water would even reach his stomach because it felt as though someone had sliced his throat open. He wasn't sure how it was possible to feel this much pain yet still be alive. He checked his clock. 3:02am.

He had somehow been trapped in his thoughts for three hours. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pair of slippers that he kept by his bedroom door for midnight trips to the kitchen where the icy tiled flooring would attack his toes. He slipped them on and placed his headphones into his ears, turning the music on his phone up to full blast. If he couldn't hear the creaking of the apartment then it made it much easier not to be terrified of lurking night beasts.

He headed out of his bedroom and across the hallway into the kitchen. Grabbing a bowl with his left hand, he readjusted the headphones so that they sat more comfortably with his other. An empty bowl of cornflakes would have satisfy his post anxiety needs. He began lightly humming to the song buzzing around his ears when something touched his shoulder. He darted around, almost slipping and dropping the bowl in the process. His heart rate rose and a million thoughts raced through his head.

_This was it, tonight was the night he actually got murdered by a demon or hell beast or god forbid an actual murderer and he was stood in his pants with disgustingly ironic emoji slippers on. The police and paramedics would see him laying on his kitchen floor, covered in his own blood with corn flakes on his head and emoji slippers on his feet and in that moment he thought death was the only fair punishment._

But no. He turned to see a rather sleepy Phil Lester stood a few feet from him. "Nice slippers," Was the first thing phil said. Voice croaky and hoarse.

"Fucking hell, don't sneak up on someone in the middle of the night Phil," Dan whisper shouted back, clutching his chest and breathing heavily. "What if i was holding a knife and stabbed you in defence?"

"Why would you be stood in the kitchen at 2am with a knife in your hand? Are you plotting my murder? This was bad timing wasn't it," Phil held back a sleepy giggle, "I'll go back into my room and pretend I never saw you, you can stab me in my sleep and I'll even act shocked when you do it,"

"3am," dan sighed back. "What?" Phil mused. "It's 3am. Not 2," Phil's smile faded a little as he saw Dan wasn't in the mood for half awake laughter in the kitchen. "Oh, yeah okay. Yeah I'll just be heading back to my room, just wanted a Ribena," he finished with a small smile. It wasn't forced but it also wasn't comfortable smile. One you'd give the bus driver or your grandma to be polite.

Dan sighed one last time and slipped past him and back out into the hallway, music back on and bowl of cereal in hand. Once he reached his room he shut the door and turned the lights off. He made his way over to his bed and let the subtle glow of his bedside lamp fill the room. Orange swirls painted the black ceiling and created a warmth he was lacking in his own mind. It used to look like this, he was sure. Black with glowing warms swirls. Beams of joy and comfort, but not anymore.

He flicked the switch on the neck of the lamp and watched as his room was engulfed in darkness. Cold, empty darkness. This was his mind now. All prospects of warmth and happiness ripped away with the flick of a switch. It was that simple. He allowed his mind to be swarmed with the darkness as his body registered the exhaustion that came with a lengthy panic attack.


	2. Chapter 2

You're Not On My Pillow

Dan was awoken by the cold. His fingers were numb and he was immediately aware of the extra space in the bed. A wave of only cold air where a warm body had once lay, a gaping hole in his chest where they had once loved.

His eyes pricked with tears as his skin began to freeze and all he could think of was the cold. How could being alone be so lonely? _A_ _stupid_ _question_ , he thought. He wound his duvet around his body and tucked it under his arms, burying his face into the cool sheets. He willed himself not to cry. He had barely been awake for mere minutes and he was already choking up. He shushed himself, making small noises into the sheets, muffled so only he could hear. Noises that were once whispered to him on winter nights in-front of a crackling fire with safe arms wrapping his body. Hushed whispers of hopeful promises and calming hums of love; now replaced by broken sobs into icy sheets with no one to hear them but himself.

_Pathetic_. He thought, again and again. He couldn't even be awake without crying. His stomach cramped and so did his throat. Constricting and pulling in impossibly tight directions, making every muscle in his body ache. He sobbed louder, finally giving in to what he knew his mind wanted. He would cry for half an hour until his eyes were bloodshot and his lips torn apart by his teeth and then he would get up and face the day with a painted on smile- just like he had every morning for the past weeks.

He couldn't quite pinpoint when this became routine. Just like showering or brushing his teeth, a breakdown just wove it's way into his mornings. And evenings. And lunches alone in café bathrooms. He had become an empty shell of a once loved man. How is it that you can go from dancing on the clouds to sitting so far beneath them that they look like photographs?

Friday. Friday's were okay. Slightly empty. the thrill of the weekend losing it's novelty after teen years blend into adult life, but they were okay. Dan caught his breath after a few moments of calming himself down and checked his alarm clock. 7:38am. Perfect. He could be dressed and out of the house by eight and not be home until that of the evening. That was the plan of action. Head into town, listen to the inappropriately cheery Christmas music which lingered in seemingly every shop and pretend to be happy while his mind raced. That would do for today.

He slumped out of bed and tousled his hair while staring at a man he barely recognised in the mirror before him. He ducked his head, not wanting to look at himself any longer and headed down the hallway to take a shower. Showers were one of the only things he could enjoy anymore. The steam cleared his head and the burning water helped mask the cold He had been feeling for so long now. He slipped off his pants and climbed into the shower, not bothering to check the temperature before pushing his back straight under. It burned and he was sure it would leave marks but it wasn't like there was anyone who would see them anymore, not even himself, so it wasn't as if he cared.

Care for anything seemed to disappear in those winter months. His youtube channel lay dormant and so did the rest of his social media. He hadn't even checked his phone in weeks, not really even sure where it was anymore. It could be on the floor by his laptop from when he threw it at the wall but he wasn't sure. Care for his physical appearance left next. His hair tickled the back of his neck, the stubble on his face itched and he was sure he had such dark bags under his eyes that he looked like he was going to a 2 month late Halloween party. But he didn't care. No one was there to see him anyway.

He squirted some shower gel into his hands and washed his body, noticing how his hip bones protruded a little more than they used to and his ribs were slightly more noticeable. His eating habits had become irregular and most of the time he felt too sick with hurt to even look at food without feeling the lingering tightness of wanting to throw up. He sighed, rinsing his body and running a damp hand through his hair. It hadn't been straightened for a while now and he had no intention of sitting alone with his thoughts for twenty minutes while he tried to tame his curls.

He knew he needed a haircut, and he knew he needed to upload a video. He knew he should text his mum or his friends. He knew he needed to get his life back on track, but in all honesty he didn't want to. He wanted to hurt and he wanted to be in pain; but at the same time he wished it would go away.

Guilt does strange things to a man and he was still trying to come to terms with what all these feelings meant. It was like he'd unlocked a box of emotions he wasn't sure how to compartmentalise. He took each out one by one and tried to figure out what it meant, only to realise that they wouldn't fit back in the way they had before. Fixing things seemed to be a lot harder than breaking them.


End file.
